


Of Dragons, nettles, and other prickly things

by La Reine Noire (lareinenoire)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Animal Death, Dance of the Dragons, Dragons behaving like dragons, Gen, Historical, Pre-Canon, Uncivil War, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lareinenoire/pseuds/La%20Reine%20Noire
Summary: "In the end, the brown dragon was brought to heel by the cunning and persistence of a 'small brown girl' of six-and-ten." (The Princess and the Queen, 730)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleloonlost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleloonlost/gifts).



> Originally written for [ASOIAF Exchange - Historical Round](http://asoiaf-exchange.livejournal.com/85311.html). The epigraph for the third section is canonical and attributed to Septon Barth. The other two quotations are my own, but the books are canonical. Nettles is a minor character in “The Princess and the Queen” and “The Rogue Prince,” and also makes a brief appearance in The World of Ice and Fire during the Dance of the Dragons. Thanks so much to Gehayi for beta-reading!

_Dragons are notoriously choosy about their riders. A prospective rider must tread carefully; make a mistake wtih a dragon, and it will likely cost one's life_.

\- Septon Barth, _Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History_

 

***

 

Sheepstealer had been a legend long before Netty was born. Every child on the island was warned against wandering too close to the caves on the far side of the Dragonmont. Even if the mud-brown dragon had only ever shown interest in the flocks, one couldn't be too careful. Certainly no one was foolish enough to seek the dragon out on purpose.

 

Not until the Prince of Dragonstone put out a proclamation that he would grant lands, riches, and a knighthood to anyone capable of riding Sheepstealer or the other two dragons that had been running wild on the Dragonmont. Netty had become Nettles by then, the name worn as proudly as her prickly nature. She was a woman grown, sixteen years of age, and while the others in the village below the massive black fortress of Dragonstone teased her for mooning over the sailors from the Free Cities, only her mother understood that it wasn't the men who held her interest, but where they came from.

 

"I won't spend the rest of my life on this bloody island," Nettles would mutter after yet another chiding. "I'll find a captain willing to take me on. You'll see."

 

"You do that," her mother replied, "and you'll be selling yourself before you cross the Narrow Sea. Sailors can't be trusted."

 

"I'm not comely enough to tempt them." Nettles remembered the story of Lady Johanna Swann, captured by pirates near the Stepstones and now a famous courtesan in Lys. "But if I do become a courtesan, Mam, I'll send half my earnings back to you."

 

"For shame! They're men and men are animals." She would know, for Nettles' father had been a sailor from Lys who had put in to Dragonstone for a fortnight and never been seen again. "You're a woman and that's enough for them."

 

"Then I'll pretend to be a boy. They won't know the difference."

 

That had been her plan, and she'd nearly gone through with it before the proclamation. After turning over an idea in her head as she made her way back to the small stone hovel, she approached her mother.

 

"There's been a message from above."

 

Above was, and had always been, the castle. Anyone who lived there, be they servant or prince, was a world apart from the villagers or the sailors who frequented the harbour. Even when Targaryen princes had spent nights below, leaving their dragonseeds in women's bellies, they never lingered. Nettles herself may have had a drop or two of dragon blood in her, not that anyone could have guessed from looking at her.

 

"It was from the Prince of Dragonstone."

 

"I heard," said Nettles' mother wearily. "How many young men will die trying to ride those beasts? They should leave them be."

 

"The Cannibal, aye." Nettles made a sign against evil, for that dragon was an unnatural thing who ate his own kind as well as any man, woman, or child who ventured anywhere near his lair. "Grey Ghost hides from her own shadow and Sheepstealer hasn't harmed a person since I was in swaddling-clothes. And the other three had riders before now."

 

"They're still dragons." She studied Nettles through narrowed eyes. "Why do you care?"

 

"He's offered lands and riches. A knighthood." Nettles grinned, snatching up a small piece of brown bread fresh from the oven. "Can you imagine me as a knight?"

 

Her mother didn't return the smile. "You'll get yourself killed. I'd rather you gave yourself to a ship's captain than to a dragon."

 

Nettles wanted to argue. _I could ride a dragon to the Free Cities without giving myself to anyone_.

 

"Promise me you won't do it," her mother said, meeting her eyes and shocking Nettles with the tears glistening there. "You're a mad girl, but you're all I've got in this world."

 

The three royal dragons--Seasmoke, Vermithor, and Silverwing--found riders sooner than their wild cousins, to nobody's surprise. What was more surprising was the identity of two of the riders. Hugh Hammer was the bastard son of a blacksmith while Ulf the White had been serving as a man-at-arms in the fortress above. The third was a Driftmark man, baseborn son to none other than the Sea Snake Lord Velaryon, and, true to his word, Prince Jacaerys gave him lands and a title.

 

A fortnight after Addam of Hull became Addam Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, Silver Denys, who owned the inn round the corner from Nettles and her mother's hovel, had his arm ripped off by Sheepstealer. That might have been all, but for the Cannibal, who swept in and devoured not just Denys but his three sons who had run to their father's aid. "A poor excuse for a Targaryen, he was," Nettles' mother commented on hearing the news. "But I never believed those stories."

 

Silver Denys had taken his name from his silvery hair, and his eyes, in certain light, looked almost violet. He'd insisted that he was Maegor the Cruel's son—his only living son, if the story were true—got on a tavern wench before King Jaehaerys outlawed the custom of first night, and would cheerfully tell the story to anyone who asked and plenty who didn't. But most of the village attended his funeral all the same.

 

"I told you so," said her mother. "Those dragons are all savage beasts."

 

"Sheepstealer only wounded him. It was the Cannibal killed him." Nettles suspected Silver Denys had approached the dragons much as he approached any villager. He hadn't been known for his brains.

 

Over the next several months, however, Sheepstealer killed no fewer than thirty prospective riders. The villagers stopped sending their men after fifteen died, and the rest came from further afield—hedge knights and younger sons dreaming of glory and dragon's wings. One had nearly run Nettles down on his horse as he charged through the village. She later saw him carried back through the village, his cloak burnt off and his clothing black and crisped.

 

She later learnt that the only reason he survived was because his elder brother was the rider of Seasmoke, one of the trained dragons. "A man lucky in his kin," was her mother's assessment. Her eyes measured Nettles. "You promised me, remember?"

 

"I remember," said Nettles, but her eyes were on the Dragonmont above.

 

Perhaps a week later, she made her way up the far side of the mountain. _Just to have a look_ , she told herself. Nothing more than that.

 

Only a handful of people on the island had even seen Grey Ghost, a solitary creature who could sometimes be seen darting across the bay, hunting fish. But Nettles had a plan. _Grey Ghost likes fish, so fish she shall have_. She had a sack full of fresh-caught cod slung over her back, stinking mightily. But as she climbed further along the path, she heard a panicked bleat off in the bushes.

 

First, she kept very still. That sound usually signalled the presence of quite another dragon, but the bleating continued for a few more moments and her heartbeat slowed a little. Setting down her sack, Nettles crept across the rocky outcropping toward the sound. She found a lamb trapped in a small defile, favouring one of its hind legs.

 

"You're too close to the dragons to have done this," she said, picking up the lamb. It was not much smaller than the stray dogs that used to lurk behind Silver Denys' tavern begging for scraps. After a few moments of struggle, she managed to get back onto the path, just as a large shadow swept overhead.

 

Nettles froze. The lamb bleated some more and she cursed it silently. _Mam will find me in the afterlife and I'll never hear the end of it_.

 

Something flopped onto the ground in front of her. Slowly, full of dread, she raised her eyes and found herself looking at a dragon the colour of mud, with eyes as black as the Dragonstone fortress' walls. It wasn't very large as dragons went, perhaps the size of her home--- _will I ever see it again? I promise I'll never complain about the smoke again if I do_.

 

In her arms, the lamb was struggling, twitching, as though it knew it was in danger. Scarcely thinking, Nettles set it on the ground and took several steps backward.

 

The lamb looked at the dragon. The dragon's tongue darted out, as though licking its chops like a dog. For a second, the lamb glanced back at Nettles almost accusingly. But before she could change her mind, the dragon opened its mouth and a gout of flame consumed the lamb. It scarcely had time to make another sound.

 

_At least it's a quick death_ , Nettles conceded, still frozen in place.

 

The dragon-- _it must be Sheepstealer_ \--lumbered forward and swallowed the charred lamb whole. Again, it licked its chops. Then, reaching past Nettles, it snapped up the sack of stinking cod between its teeth and flew away.

 

Nettles sank to the ground with a shudder. But in the back of her mind, she began to wonder.

 

The next day she gave a handful of copper stars to one of the farmers for his oldest sheep--a thin, gangling thing, practically dead on its feet--and climbed back up the path with the sheep slung over her shoulder.

 

She came to the same spot where she had encountered the dragon the day before and set down the sheep. It began to graze while Nettles ducked behind a nearby bush and watched.

 

How long she crouched there, she did not know, but within a few seconds of the winged shadow passing overhead, a spurt of flame struck the sheep where it stood. Sheepstealer flopped onto the ground and nosed at its meal, preparing to eat. Forcing herself to swallow her fear, Nettles stood.

 

"Oi, you!" she called out. "Dragon! Sheepstealer!"

 

The dragon looked up almost lazily. Nettles pointed to the sheep. "I brought you that. Don't eat me and I'll bring you another tomorrow."

 

Sheepstealer tilted its head to one side, regarding her with curiosity. Wolfing down the sheep as it had the lamb the previous day, it flew off.

 

"I don't know what I expected," Nettles said to herself. "Dragons don't talk."

 

But Sheepstealer had listened. It was a first step. And one thing Nettles had learnt from her mother was how to be patient.

 

Every day for nearly a moon's turn, she brought a sheep to the dragon, and every day, she took one step closer to the beast. After running out of copper stars, she begged the oldest, filthiest, creatures that were of no use to anyone, and was on the verge of stealing them herself when Sheepstealer bent its head--easily the length of her leg--for her to climb on. Nettles didn't hesitate.

 

The dragon shot into the sky like an arrow and Nettles clung to its horns for dear life. If she'd eaten that day, she might have fouled herself--there was no shame in admitting that if only to herself and the dragon--but as soon as she managed to open her eyes, the fear vanished as though it had never existed. They were flying over the great maw of the Dragonmont, through the tendrils of steam that drifted lazily upward from whatever lay in its dark depths.

 

Mam would never forgive her for breaking her promise, but Nettles didn't care.

 

_This is what it is to be free_.

 

There was no going back.

 

_***_

 

_A dragon is like no other creature. In all likelihood, the dragon will be older--sometimes far older--than its rider, and have seen a great deal more of the world. A dragon can bring perspective and wisdom to a rider, so long as that rider is willing to listen._

 

\- Aenar Targaryen, quoted in Maester Thomax, _Dragonkin: Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration on the Life and the Death of Dragons_

 

***

 

Dragons may not talk to people, but Nettles was certain they spoke to each other. Not only did Sheepstealer behave differently around the royal dragons than when they were alone, the royal dragons would roar and spit in what Nettles supposed must be a language of sorts.

 

She mentioned it to Addam Velaryon one night as they sat in the great hall in Dragonstone, and he looked at her in surprise before nodding. "Septon Barth said as much. He said the ancient Valyrians could speak to their dragons in their tongue, but that the knowledge was lost in the Doom."

 

"The Queen can't speak to her dragon, then?" asked Nettles through a sip of ale.

 

"Not that I've heard. But dragons understand their riders just like horses do, sometimes even better."

 

Nettles had never ridden a horse in her life, but she shrugged all the same. Of the new riders, Addam was the closest to her age and despite having been made the Sea Snake's heir and being Lord Addam now, anytime she tried to call him that, he'd blush and shift his feet uncomfortably. His brother Alyn had finally recovered from the burns Sheepstealer had dealt him, but he still refused to come anywhere near the mud-brown dragon.

 

Nettles couldn't blame him. She'd have done the same.

 

"How do you get them to do things?" she asked. "Sheepstealer flies, but I can't tell him where to go and he doesn't spout fire unless he's eating. A fine warrior that makes him."

 

"There are commands you can learn," replied Addam, looking unsure. "I scarcely know them myself, and it depends on the dragon. My lord father has books in his library at Driftmark and I know there must be plenty here in Dragonstone if you ask Maester Gerardys." Her expression must have given her away, for Addam bent his head closer and lowered his voice. "Do you know your letters?"

 

She shook her head, staring at her mug.

 

"Just ask my lord father, then. He's read all there is to read about dragons."

 

"The _Sea Snake_?" Nettles all but squeaked. "He's a legend."

 

"He's also a man like any other," said Addam, laughing.

 

"You just say that because he's your father."

 

"Then ask Maester Gerardys. It's his job to teach people things."

 

Despite her discomfort, Nettles asked the maester and he taught her a scattering of words in High Valyrian--wincing at her accent every time she spoke them--to guide the dragon. "But how do I know Sheepstealer will understand me?" she asked.

 

Maester Gerardys shrugged. "They're dragons. They just _know_."

 

He was right. Even Sheepstealer responded to High Valryian despite having never heard it before, or so Nettles assumed. She was high on the Dragonmont, practicing the command for flame-- _dracarys_ \--when she heard bells begin to ring from the castle. _An alarm_. Nettles' stomach tightened. She grabbed hold of Sheepstealer's new harness and the dragon sailed down into the main courtyard.

 

"What's happened?" she demanded of a passing man-at-arms.

 

"They've captured the little prince," the man replied. "We're going to war."

 

***

 

_Death comes out of a dragon's mouth, but death does not go in that way_.

\- Septon Barth, _Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History_

 

***

 

The Gullet was Nettles' first taste of battle and she hated it.

 

She joined Addam and the other two new dragonriders as they plunged down toward the massive line of ships moving westward toward Lord Velaryon's blockade. _Stop them, whatever it takes_ , were their orders. _Dracarys, dracarys, dracarys_ , she heard the others yelling, her own voic echoing theirs over the screams of the sailors below. Well ahead of them was the queen's son Prince Jacaerys astride his own dragon Vermax.

 

Nettles was the first one to see Vermax hit the water. She cried out, and Addam, the closest to her, wheeled Seasmoke round and shook his head. Below them, the invaders' line was breaking, the surviving ships making for the Narrow Sea.

 

"We have to finish them!" Addam called out. "If you get too low, they'll kill you too!"

 

They later found out that the prince had managed to get free of his dying dragon, but that Myrish crossbow bolts had killed him in the water. Even grimmer was the news that followed of the ships that descended upon Driftmark and burnt the Sea Snake's fine castle at High Tide to the ground.

 

She found Addam on the battlements, where he was staring out to the west. On the horizon, Nettles thought she could see a red glow.

 

"It's still afire," said Addam softly. "My father's treasures from the east, his books...all of it gone."

 

"I'm so sorry, Addam." Nettles placed one hand on his shoulder. "At least your father is safe."

 

Lord Corlys had landed with his flagship at Dragonstone earlier that day, grey with grief for both his grandson Prince Jacaerys and for the sack of Driftmark. The queen had clasped his hand and vowed vengeance for both losses. _The traitors will know my wrath_ , she had said.

 

"I know. It could just as easily have been him dead and Prince Jacaerys alive," Addam murmured, his head bowed. "I didn't think it would be like this."

 

"I didn't either," Nettles admitted. "It's nothing like the songs, is it?"

 

"Not at all. But if the singers told the truth, nobody would go to war. Not even on dragonback."

 

They watched in silence until the faraway glow of the flames over Driftmark finally faded. The next day the queen called all the remaining dragonriders before her throne.

 

"I will rain down fire and death upon our foes," she declared, her violet eyes snapping with barely-controlled rage. "They have taken two of my sons. I will take _all_ of theirs."

 

Nettles met Addam's eyes for a moment before they both looked back at Queen Rhaenyra. Knots tightened in Nettles' stomach, just as they had when she first vaulted onto Sheepstealer that day on the mountain.

 

There was no turning back.

**Author's Note:**

> According to "The Princess and the Queen," the black faction's attempts to train four new dragonriders succeeded by the end of the year 129AC, and describes Nettles as being sixteen at the time that she first rode Sheepstealer. That puts Nettles' birth around 112-14AC.
> 
> I hope to continue Nettles' story when I have a bit more time to spare, so my apologies if the ending seems a bit abrupt.


End file.
